


Take My Breath Away

by bry0psida



Series: 12 Days Of Harringrove [10]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22084768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bry0psida/pseuds/bry0psida
Summary: Steve invites Billy on his family's annual ski trip.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington/Billy Hargrove
Series: 12 Days Of Harringrove [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580533
Comments: 3
Kudos: 83





	Take My Breath Away

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a Berlin song. Listened to [this](https://open.spotify.com/track/6NwVQeo9GM5c9smdV1ULPv?si=1pLGWDkRT2qdHpiMnKJmDA) instrumental cover on repeat while writing.

They’ve been dancing around this for a while. Too many body checks on the court, looking just a little too long in the shower, unnecessary tongue wagging in the halls, Billy thinks he’s being pretty fucking obvious. Any idiot in California would’ve gotten the hint by now and either socked him in the jaw, told him _thanks, but no thanks_ , or dragged him into the bathroom between class and locked the stall door behind them.

But Steve isn’t a California idiot, he’s a small town Indiana idiot. Steve’s not just hopeless with Billy, it’s with everyone. It’s not even like the guy doesn’t know how to flirt, he does, he’s not nearly as persistent or lascivious as Billy, he just doesn’t seem to realise what he’s doing _is_ flirting, can’t seem to figure out when other people are flirting with him, either. Even girls. They throw themselves at Steve here, albeit less since Billy came to town, but there’s definitely still a steady line forming, all clamouring to talk to King Steve.

Billy figures there really isn’t a better time to address the issue than here. Steve’s parents have brought him to their favourite alpine resort for the annual week of skiing, snowboarding, tubing, saunas and all the other shit these places have to offer. Always let him bring a friend or girlfriend since they’re too busy schmoozing with potential clients and business associates to spend any time with their only son. Billy jumped at the chance, anything to get out of his nightmare house and alone with Steve, even if he does hate the snow.

…

Billy was dreading the drive down with Steve’s parents. Mom’s always loves him, dad’s tolerate him, but Billy knows the relationship between them and Steve isn’t good, even though he’s never said as much. Billy doesn’t want to charm them, not in front of Steve.

It’s quite the relief when Steve tells him they’re driving separate, asks Billy to bring a thermos, snacks and all his favourite music to make it a good time.

Steve doesn’t like metal. Pretends to for Billy’s approval, but he’s a shitty liar, so Billy brings some of his lighter rock. Bryan Adams’ Reckless, Billy Squier’s Don’t Say No, Queen’s News Of The World, Iggy Pop’s Lust For Life, even brings Derek and The Dominoes’ Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs, tells himself it’s ‘cause it makes for good driving music and not because Steve’ll like it. Steve loves love songs, big sap. Steve brings his own tapes, his usual heavy hitters. Tears For Fears, The Police, The Talking Heads, Soft Cell. Preppy bastard.

Billy likes driving long distance, Steve says he doesn’t. It’s a little hard to believe with him screaming along to Summer of ’69 which, serendipitously, came on right as they pulled onto route 69.

…

Steve’s exhausted by the time they’re there, first thing he does is drop his suitcase at the door and face plant on his own bed. They’re sharing a room, twin beds, thankfully not a bunk. If this weekend goes where Billy’s hoping it does, they can just push them together.

“I’m so tired,” Steve whines, voice muffled by a face full of pillow.

Billy hauls their cases in, dumps each one under the respective bed. “I offered to take over, like, five times.”

“Yeah, and you drive like a maniac.”

“Have I crashed?”

“You’re not gonna total _your_ car, you treat it like it’s your first love.”

“She is,”

“My point exactly,”

Billy sits on the edge of Steve’s bed, bypasses his own entirely. Steve doesn’t say anything about it, just shuffles his legs out of the way.

“You gonna nap, or what?” Billy asks.

Steve turns his face on the pillow, looks back at Billy. “Might do. Why, you wanna do somethin’?”

“Might go for a walk, look around. You can stay if you’re too tired.”

“Screw the nap, you need a tour.” Steve rolls onto his back, stretches. His shirt rides up, exposes pale skin and a trail of hair that disappears beneath his jeans. Billy’s seen Steve naked plenty, but this stolen moment feels more intimate than wandering eyes in the locker room. His eyes dart away before Steve can notice.

…

“Here,” Steve says as he tosses his Snorkel Parka into Billy’s lap, like swapping clothes is a thing they do. “You’ll freeze your ass off in that denim jacket.”

“It has a fleece lining,” Billy protests, half-hearted.

Steve snorts. “And it’s -5 outside, put it on.”

He shrugs off the jacket, puts the parka on. Steve pulls up the hood, zips the coat right beneath his chin. Billy feels like an idiot till Steve grins at him, small and saccharine. The coat smells just like him. Hint of hairspray, a little Polo Sport, and that underlying sweetness that Steve always exudes.

It’s a nice place, even if it is fucking freezing. The snow is beautiful, easy to enjoy from inside the resort through a misty window, not so much when it’s being blown into Billy’s face when they step outside to move from one building to another.

It’s all very rustic. Old wood lodges, mounted deer heads, brick chimneys, hand-made furniture, none of that mass produced flat pack capitalist crap in sight that seems to plague Hawkins homes. There’s an authenticity here Billy’s not seen much of since his mom used to take him to side street coffee shops for poetry readings and flea markets for second hand clothes back in San Fran.

…

Steve drags his feet all the way to the restaurant. Billy’d drag him by the sleeve to hurry him up if it wasn’t so entertaining.

“What’s the hold up, Harrington?”

“I _hate_ eating here,”

“Food shitty?”

“Nah, food’s good. But it’s a _communal_ dining experience. Long tables, kind of like a buffet but they encourage you to talk.”

“I know what communal dining is, Steve.”

“Wait, really?”

“I lived like, 20 minutes from Haight-Ashbury.” Steve looks at him like the information means less than nothing. Probably doesn’t. Billy finally does grab him by the sleeve and tug him the rest of the way there.

For all Steve’s whining, it’s no trouble at all to find the end of a table that’s relatively empty. Billy’s mullet seems to be scaring off any would be hopefuls looking for a chit chat.

“Never thought I’d see the day I’d be grateful you have a mullet,” Steve says round a spoonful of mashed potato.

“Don’t gimme that shit, you love my mullet.” It’s pure bravado, most people don’t like it, which only makes Billy like it more.

Steve presses his lips together like he does when he gets shy, eyes on his dinner. “I do, actually.” He looks up, reaches out and rubs the end of a stray curl between his thumb and forefinger. “I do love it.”

Billy’s not sure what to do with that. Steve makes it so easy to make a move, but he’s nervous, hesitating. Billy Hargrove doesn’t hesitate.

He brushes off the moment with a light slap to Steve’s fingers, throws his hair over his shoulder.

“You and all the other bitches in Hawkins,”

Steve looks disappointed for a fraction of a second. Billy wouldn’t even have noticed if he didn’t know Steve so well now. Billy diffuses the tension by flicking a pea on his spoon at Steve, gets two back for his trouble. A misfired slice of steamed carrot later and they’re kicked out of the restaurant.

…

Steve’s pretty keen to get Billy snowboarding. It’s not actually something Steve’s learned, prefers to ski. Given Billy’s experience surfing and skateboarding Steve is certain he’ll be a pro at it by the end of the day.

It’s definitely similar, not the same, though. Stance is a little different, movement is more or less the same. Billy doesn’t like having the ability to move his feet restricted, but he forgets all that the first time he makes it down the beginner slope without eating snow. It’s a rush he’s not felt since California, like riding a wave on your first try, or cresting a road you didn’t realise was a hill and skating all the way down.

The cold wind whips past Billy’s face, musses up his hair and bites at his cheeks. He feels alive. Steve screams his name victorious all the way down the slope. Maybe Billy could learn to love the snow.

…

They try skiing the next day, spend hours trying to figure it out. They shake off the instructors, Billy wants _Steve_ to show him, even if it takes twice as long. He doesn’t _really_ care about getting it right, just wants Steve’s praise when does. He just about figures out how to get some momentum on relatively flat ground, spends more time laughing at himself and studying the flush on Steve’s cheeks than putting any real effort in.

Once he’s not a total disaster, Steve deems him ready for the slope. They take the chairlift up, thighs pressing together on the seat. There’s plenty of room, Billy’s already right in the corner. Steve shuffles up anyway.

“For the heat,” Steve tells him when he catches Billy looking at their legs. He’s not kidding, Billy’s leg feels like it’s on fire from the contact, feels like a kid again, about to have his first kiss, discovering the warmth of another human body.

Steve wants to go down slow with him the first time, Billy needs space before he does something reckless, like kiss Steve’s stupid red lips on a ski slope in front of countless families. He urges Steve to go first, so he can _watch, get a feel for it_. Steve grins, revels in any opportunity to show off.

Billy knew he’d be good, Steve’s been skiing since he was a kid. Knowing and seeing are different things, though. Watching him weave his way down, effortless and poised, it shouldn’t be hot. And yet it is. Steve can make the stupidest shit hot.

They go down together when Steve makes it back up. Billy falls on his ass, expected as much, ends up partially buried in snow. He’s not embarrassed when Steve holds out a hand, head thrown back mid laugh. He’s more focused on how the afternoon sun is hitting Steve’s face, glinting off his teeth.

…

Billy’s arms feel like jelly the next morning, kinda like when he discovered push-ups. Steve wants them to go snow tubing. _You don’t have to do any work at all_ , he says. _Rest day, self care. Please go down a hill in a stupid rubber donut with me_. Billy indulges.

Snow tubing is Steve’s favorite. They go down separately first, then get in a double tube. Billy feels a little old for it, but Steve’s giddy yelps and feet nudging Billy’s ribs quickly change his mind.

They ride the stupid tubes for hours, even get stoned and steal a couple, take ‘em down one of the bigger slopes once it’s too dark to ski or snowboard. It’s incredibly dangerous, horribly stupid. It’s the most fun Billy’s had in years.

They tumble out of the tube and into the snow. Billy’s laughing so hard his stomach hurts. By the time he’s calmed down, Steve accidentally jabs him in the side and it starts all over again. Once Steve realises Billy’s ticklish, he just keeps jabbing him in the ribs and armpits, till Billy’s gasping for breath, till he’s hard in his wet jeans.

Then Steve stops tickling him. He’s straddling Billy, there’s no way he doesn’t know what’s poking him in the ass. Billy’s expecting two outcomes to this scenario.

One: Steve laughs it off, helps Billy up, they get even more stoned and never speak of it again.

Two: They finally get things going. Steve kisses Billy real dirty and they stumble back to their room, push the beds together and fuck the night away.

Steve defies Billy’s expectations as always. You’d think it’d stop surprising Billy by now, that he can’t gauge what Steve is going to do when it matters. Steve bites his lip, lets his eyes roam Billy’s face.

He puts his hands in the snow and looms over him till he’s blocking out the light of the moon with his hair. Then he leans in, all the way in, and kisses Billy soft, so soft. Tender.

This isn’t what Billy signed up for.

…

The walk back to their room is quiet, awkward. Billy didn’t kiss Steve back, couldn’t let himself.

Here’s the thing. Billy came on this trip for a lot of reasons, the main one being sex. Steve’s hot, he’s fun, Billy’s heard all sorts of tales about him in bed. Billy wants to ride the King, always had a thing for the popular boys, he can admit that to himself no problem.

They’re friends, good friends. Steve’s actually the best friend Billy’s had since he was a little kid, not that he’d admit that. Billy can fuck his friends, done it plenty of times before.

He wasn’t expecting this…weird tension between them. Steve’s a sweetheart, says all the cute shit he probably says to girls, been holding doors for Billy, pulling his chair out for him, gives Billy his hoodies and jackets. He wasn’t expecting to like it so much.

But Steve is hopeless, probably doesn’t realise how the shit he does comes across. Billy’s not hopeless, sees the longing in Steve’s eyes clear as a summer’s day, he wants more than Billy was planning to give him, more than he’s prepared to. He can’t get attached, not if he ever plans to make it out of Hawkins.

They don’t talk about it. Steve tries, once they’re back inside. Billy shrugs him off, leaves him in the middle of their room with cold hands and sad eyes.

…

After a few cigarettes and half a flask of whiskey, Billy creeps back to the room. Lights are off, Billy can just about see Steve’s silhouette in the bed, the rise and fall of the blanket as Steve breathes slow and steady.

Billy’s not really thinking about the consequences of his actions right now, he just crosses the room, kneels beside Steve’s bed, ghosts his numb fingers through Steve’s hair. He doesn’t wake up. Billy’s a little disappointed when he doesn’t.

…

Steve blows him off the next day, finds any excuse not to be in a room alone with him. Billy doesn’t blame him, honestly. Maybe he’s embarrassed. Or maybe Billy’s just an asshole.

Billy stays indoors, since Steve isn’t dragging him out he doesn’t see much point in subjecting himself to the cold. It’s not beautiful without Steve, anyway. It’s not warm. Steve makes it warm.

He curls up in bed with a joint he most certainly should not be smoking in an entirely wooden building and his copy of Pet Semetary.

…

Steve corners him in the sauna.

“We need to talk, Hargrove.”

Billy’d really rather not have this conversation when all that’s separating his dick from the world is a towel. Steve’s naked too, save his own towel. His skin is shiny with perspiration, hair already flopping over his forehead and into his eyes.

Billy pats the perpetually damp wooden bench beside him. Steve blinks at him, like he expected Billy to argue or something. He sits down when Billy pats the space a second time, doesn’t talk, though.

Christ, this is gonna be like pulling teeth. “You wanna start, or should I?”

“I will,” Steve puts his hands on his knees, finds some grain in the wood to look at instead of Billy. “I…shouldn’t have kissed you. We were high, and I guess I misread signals or something. I get it if you don’t wanna be friends now, just fuck, please don’t say anything to anyone else about this, ok?” Steve looks up at Billy, eyes a little misty. He looks terrified. _Fuck_.

“Steve,” Billy says, turning a little to face him better. “I wanted you to kiss me.”

“You wanted…? Then why didn’t you kiss back? What’s the problem?”

 _Where to start. That I came just ‘cause I wanted to fuck you? That I can’t now I know we’ll both want more than that?_ “It’s…complicated.”

“Oh, fuck that, Billy. Don’t pussy out on me. You know how fucking scared out of my mind I’ve been since you walked out of the room and left me there, thinking I’d just outed myself to the biggest asshole in school for no reason?”

The sauna door opens, a group of chatty dads spill in. Billy stands, cocks his head towards the door. “C’mon, we can talk in our room.”

“Alright,”

…

Steve shuts the door behind them, leans against it, face impassive. “So? Talk.”

Billy was at least hoping to get some underwear on, he’s feeling more than a little exposed in nothing but a thin robe and complimentary slippers. He sits on his bed, grabs his cigarettes off the bedside table along with his empty coke can turned ashtray.

“You want one?”

“Stop stalling,”

Well, alright then. Billy lights his cigarette. “I mostly came on this trip ‘cause I wanted to fuck you, or get fucked by you. Whichever, ‘m not picky.” Steve opens his mouth to talk, Billy holds a hand up. “Let me finish. I came to fuck you. Then you started…doing that thing you do, charming the hell outta me. Playing with my hair and giving me your clothes and just…being you. I had so many chances to make a move on you those first four days, every time the opportunity came I froze up. And I _don’t_ freeze up.”

Billy ashes his cigarette, feels the thing that’s been taking up all the space in his chest expand, heavy yet hollow. “When you kissed me, I wasn’t ready for that. I was expecting tongue and teeth and too much spit, not. Not feelings.”

Steve’s picking at his cuticle. Nervous. “Are you saying you like me back?”

“Yeah,”

“Then I still don’t- what are we doing? Why are you over there and why am I over here?” Steve gestures at the space between them like it’s absurd, unnecessary. Maybe it is.

“I can’t do this, Steve.”

Steve’s voice is thin, breathy. Billy can see his eyes watering from across the room. “But _why?”_

Billy takes a long drag, then drops the dead cigarette in the can. “I can’t get attached to you,”

“Sounds like you already are,”

“More attached, then. Not if I ever wanna get out of Hawkins.”

Steve exhales, more a huff than a sigh. “Too late to take you up on that cigarette?”

Billy gathers up the pack, his lighter and the can, holds them out, drops them into Steve’s waiting hand. Steve sits in the middle of the room, closer but not too close, still at least a metre between them.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen after graduation, I’m sure as shit not going to college. But I’m not staying in Indiana, I can’t. I have to go back to California, and that won’t happen if I let myself fall for you, Steve.”

Steve looks up from the can between his legs, hopeful. “I’m not staying, either.”

“Don’t say that shit just ‘cause I said it,”

“I might have feelings for you, Billy, but my world doesn’t revolve around you. I was always gonna leave, just hadn’t figured out where to go, yet.”

That. That changes things. Steve must sense the shift in dynamic, the change in the air. He stubs out his cigarette on the top of the can, drops it inside, cross the room in two steps, looms over Billy. His head is blocking out the light again, he’s all Billy can see. When he leans down and kisses Billy this time, Billy kisses him back.

**Author's Note:**

> My [Tumblr](https://bry0psidawrites.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/bryopsida)


End file.
